


Give the Demonologist his Due

by Amlia, NaTak



Category: Constantine (TV), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Conflict, Dialogue Heavy, Drinking, First Meetings, Flirting, Humor, Lucifer Has Daddy Issues, Lux - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of hell, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smoking, club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amlia/pseuds/Amlia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaTak/pseuds/NaTak
Summary: The Devil and an exorcist walk into a bar. Neither of them expect the resulting punchline.





	Give the Demonologist his Due

**Author's Note:**

> We regret nothing.

The night club is packed, as it usually is during prime parting hour. The line outside reaches the next intersection, but everyone seems oddly determined to make it inside with high spirits.

A tall, blond, slightly rugged-looking man walks up to the bouncer at the entrance and flips him a nondescript playing card.  

“I got a special pass, mate,” he shows the card with a flourish and a cocky smirk, words dripping with a heavy British accent.

Whatever the bouncer sees on the piece of paper makes him step aside in a hurry. "'Course, sir," he stumbles to say. "Welcome to Lux."

“Ta,” the blond tips an invisible hat as he swags into the darkened space.

He stands on the top steps for a moment, taking in the room. No square foot is wasted, bodies moving to the pounding music twist and turn into a kinetic mess. Waiters weave their way through the mass, serving trays balanced on their hands.

The man is quick to snatch a tumbler from a passing server.

Sipping his drink, he descends the stairs, dodging dancers and dwellers, throwing playful winks at anyone who happens to draw their eyes appreciatively at him, but doesn't stop until he reaches the bar.

Curiously, there he finds the only person not partaking in the club's energy. A handsome man, clad in a pristine three-piece-suit, sits hunched over an empty shot glass – not his first, or second, maybe his tenth.

His mood is so transparently depressed even the most obnoxious, air-headed patrons give him a wide berth.

The blond hops onto a stool next to him, immediately flagging the bartender.

“Hey, mate. Bring us a whiskey, will ya? Ta,” he drawls.

Constantine throws the rest of the drink back and tries to drown into the upbeat music, suddenly wearier than before.

"Now _that's_ interesting," the mysterious man comments in a surprisingly polished tone, turning around in his seat to face the newcomer. "You're not from around here, are you?"

John glances at the man with a smirk and raised eyebrow. “Neither are you, chap,” he salutes the other with the empty glass. The bartender sets his new drink in front of him, turning expectant eyes to the other patron.

"Another one, boss?" He asks, more than eager to please.

Lucifer smiles wickedly at him. "You talk as if you didn't know me, Michael."

The barman blushes furiously, fumbling for a new stack of shot glasses.

After throwing back two more shots as if they were barely stronger than a sip of smoothie, Lucifer turns his attention to the British man.

“Something of a regular, aren't you?” John asks with a knowing nod, before the Devil has a chance to open his mouth.

Grinning toothly, as if at a private joke, Lucifer shrugs. "You could say that, yes," he replies. "More often than not I find my way here, after the sun goes down." He pauses for a moment, thinking. "Or even before that, when the mood strikes," Lucifer admits, not at all bothered. He leans forward in his seat, focusing his piercing, dark gaze on the new visitor. "You, on the other hand," he says suggestively, tasting each word as though they were sweet on his tongue, "have never been to Lux before. So I must ask, what brings such an attractive, enigmatic fellow here tonight?"

John releases a startled laugh, both amused and charmed by the man's blatant advance. “Oh, you know, things to see, people to do,” he leers a bit, not feeling an eminent rejection from his companion. 

Lucifer’s returning smirk has an edge of danger to it. “Then it appears you have indeed come to the right place.” His smile widens, as he catches John licking his lips. “If you’re lucky,” the Devil continues, allowing his gaze to travel languidly over his companion’s features, “I may be convinced to fulfill your deepest, darkest desire before the night is over.”

“Oh,” John murmurs intrigued, leaning closer. “Tell me, luv, what is your name?”

“Lucifer,” he replies, without missing a beat, “Morningstar.” His eyes glint in amusement when he sees John stiffen by his side. “And how should I call the man who has the honor to delight in my company this evening?” Lucifer inquires, pretending he didn’t notice the other’s tense posture.

“You can call me John, satan,” the blond jokes, though he reaches quickly for his drink and drowns most of it. “Some sort of stage name, eh?”

Lucifer’s grin is sharp and all too knowing. “The Devil doesn’t speak in falsehoods,” he states simply, letting the other draw his own conclusions.

“Right,” John huffs, irritated, smooth lines gone. “Because Hell’s Lord would be taking five in the city of angels, moping lonely at a bar.” He downs he rest of his drink, preparing to stand up. “It's been lovely, but-”

“Sour spot, hm?” Lucifer interrupts, curious now. People usually react with disbelief and mockery when he introduces himself. But rarely do they show such bitterness and anger. “Why is that?” He wonders, mostly at himself. “You don’t seem the type to be a religious zealot. I’d think you’d be up for a bit of sin and pleasure,” he comments lightly. Then, Lucifer’s eyes narrow and his expression turns somber, with a touch of viciousness to it. “Besides,” he says coldly, “what would a human know of the business of the Devil?”

That makes John freeze, intrigued all over again. He sits firmly on his seat, turning calculating eyes upon Lucifer. The Devil stands the scrutiny with a mock toast and a playful wink.

The exorcist finally smirks in realization. "I heard that the Rising Darkness had something to do with an insurgency in Hell," he comments unassumingly, "but I hadn't expected the Devil himself to be the leader the rebellion."

Lucifer snorts, rolling his eyes with revulsion. "My days of rebelling are over," he clarifies sharply. "I'm merely retired. What happens downstairs is no longer any concern of mine."

The seconds tick by, the tension between the pair is palpable. Suddenly, John gives a sharp laugh, flagging the bartender. “Top us, will ya? Ta.”

He turns to his devilish companion, cocky and playful once more, raising his refilled tumbler. “John Constantine: exorcist, demonologist and master of the dark arts,” he bows his head with a flourish, sipping his drink.

Lucifer raises his eyebrows, trying to hide his surprise under indifferent amusement. "A demonologist, really? I must say, it's been a few lifetimes since I crossed paths with one," the Devil comments aiming for nonchalantly. "You should be glad we have sweet Michael behind the counter tonight," he says, as an afterthought. "I can't imagine dear Mazikeen would be too pleased to make acquaintances with you," Lucifer smirks before adding, voice dripping with sarcasm, " _Master of the Dark Arts_."

John huffs, gulping his drink. Whatever incredulity that had existed in his eyes is gone. “Yeah, yeah, I know bloody well how that sounds,” he shrugs, taking a card out of his trench coat and offering it to the other man. “Keep meaning to have it reprinted, but, oh well, procrastination and all of that.”

His casual demeanor startles an honest chuckle out of Lucifer. "It does sound a tad excessive," the Devil agrees smoothly, accepting the piece of paper and running his fingers carefully over the imprinted letters. Noticing something, he tsks reprovingly. "Not even an email address? A LinkedIn contact?" Lucifer asks, scandalized. "Preposterous! You're a demonologist, not a caveman. Social media is how people do business nowadays." Then he brings the card close to his nose, sniffing at it. "Uh," he complains, making a face. "And you really must invest in better quality paper. Customers do mind this sort of thing. After all, as you humans like to say," the fallen angel pauses for a moment, raising his gaze to smirk at John, "I'm in the details."

The exorcist laughs, shaking his head in amusement. They share a compatriotic silence for a few beats.

“So, tell me,” John inquires, lips twisted in a small smile, but a dangerous glint shining in his eyes, “what _is_ the Devil doing in a place like this? Some sort of retirement place for supernatural entities?” He tries to joke, but it sounds mostly flat. “Or is there a more nefarious reason for your presence here, huh, mate?”

Lucifer rolls his shoulders, glancing away for a moment. "Of course," he mumbles to himself. "There must _always_ be an ulterior, villainous reason for my actions," the words come out derisive, but the flicker of a pained grimace betrays the Devil's true sentiments. " _Dad_ knows it's impossible to imagine that the bad, old Beelzebub could be suffering from an innocent, prosaic case of burnout combined with a broken h–"

The fallen angel cuts himself off, jaw tense, fist clutching around his last shot glass with unnecessary force.

John raises an eyebrow at such display, quietly taking in the other. He swirls his drink, but doesn't taste it.

“Right,” the exorcist says emotionless. “Because you were simply a righteous defender of free will,” he spits the words with sarcasm and mockery. “It's not like you forged yourself an army of unscrupulous beings whose only purpose was to create mayhem in your name. Or like you acquired a taste for manipulation and fighting for the sake of conflict in a piss contest with _daddy_ by the end of your _domestic._ ” John twists his lips in a ghost of a smile. “It's not like you dragged thousands of your siblings down to Hell with you, only because they believed in your cause – in _you –_ but were betrayed by your own pride.”

Abruptly, Lucifer stands up. A second later, he's raising the demonologist by the collar of his shirt and slamming him bodily against the bar. Around them, a few people scream in surprise, scattering away. The music is too loud, though, so most don't even realize conflict has broken inside the club. Michael, the bartender, knows better than to get tangled up in his boss' business, so he merely steps aside.

"You talk about things beyond your pathetic – _human_ – comprehension!" The Devil growls, pressing the British man down. "You think that just because you read a bunch of _biased_ history books by written conceited, ignorant authors that you know me? Truly know me?" The fallen angel asks, blind with rage. "That just because you can do a few parlor tricks that you are able to stand up to me? I'm Lucifer Morningstar! I'm the Devil! I have powers beyond your imagination, Demonologist," he snarls. "You hope that just because you've banished half a dozen demons back to hell that you're better than me? That it gives you the right slander my name? Do you think insulting me will put you back in my Father's graces?" Lucifer smirks vindictively. "Because I _assure_ you," he whispers sweetly into John's ear, "no matter what you do, you'll never see the Silver City. Oh no, my friend. You. Are. Going. To _Hell_."

John laughs viciously back at him. “Oh, no, mate, I have no expectations of going anywhere else than down.” He attempts to push the other off, but the Devil proves himself too strong. “And from where I stand, though you claim to be so powerful, all I see is a poor lost soul filled with rage and despair, struggling just like everyone else in this cursed earth.”

They stare at each other, unblinking. Burning, passionate fury clashing against cold, unwavering calm.

Then, the fire in Lucifer's eyes recedes and he steps back, finally letting go of John's collar.

"Touché," the fallen angel tries to chuckle good-naturally, but it comes out hollow and broken. "Michael, darling," he nods at the cowering bartender. "Our dear Demonologist could use a little pick me up, don't you think?" Lucifer throws the British man a sideways glance, gauging his reaction at the sudden change in demeanor. "Make it a Screaming Orgasm. On the house," he adds, making to walk away. "Unfortunately it appears you'll have to make do without the real thing," the Devil shoots in John's direction, tugging at his cuffs and straightening his vest.

“And why is that?” John probes with a shit-eating grin. “Haven't we already come to an _understanding_? I didn't think you'd be put off by a little bit of rough foreplay.” He reaches into his coat, this time taking his cigaret pack. “Sit down, have a smoke.” He offers, taking one for himself and lighting it up. “Besides, you said something very interesting about desires,” he turns mischievous eyes to Lucifer. “Dark, deep desires.”

The Devil opens his mouth in surprise, but is quick to recover. When he turns back to John, Lucifer's smile is sly and inviting. "My, my. What do we have here? It seems that there is more to you than it meets the eyes," he tells him appreciatively. "Tell me then, Demonologist," the fallen angel licks his lips, "what is it that you truly desire?"

John brings the fresh cocktail to his lips, smirking over the cherry. “Right now? How about some privacy and a flat surface?”

 


End file.
